


the Iter

by maggots987



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggots987/pseuds/maggots987
Summary: Just a pwp story, focusing mainly on the elves of Imladris and Mirkwood.





	the Iter

..the recollections of the first time I met Legolas are scattered and fragmentary and alter themselves every time my mind returns to them. Alas, i don't know whether there is much left of foregone reality in them. Struggling to return to sun-filled halls in Mirkwood of days long past i imagine the feeling of something so awfully tender and vulnerable being so cruelly pried open - pried open by my own hands - that even now with so many days lying between me and those blissful moments I can not help but tremble, feeling a fleeting touch of something unearthly.  
I strive to make the vision less blurry and sometimes a glimpse of a narrow mitten-clad hand, which I rob of its woolen cover to find the fingers hot, bony and trembling for my touch, is so vivid that I can't help but wish to grip the thin wrist tightly and make the other parts of Legolas' body appear before me out from nowhere. Finally, the vision shatters and here I am alone again.  
I do have a recollection, however, of how he struggled the very first time, trying to push my hands away in vain, grabbing my wrists with feverish half transparent fingers, while I was embracing him in a completely innocent way of a healer meeting the sickly child whom he is supposed to help. Surprisingly, the less innocent my actions were the quicker his resistance crumbled - and mere weeks later he was trembling under my touches, his breath uneven, his arousal a tender hue of pink with a droplet of pearly liquid gathering under my fingertip, a litany of meaningless pleas spilling from his lips .  
I am proud to say I had him undone completely in a few minutes.  
His timid attempts at avoiding me the next day did nothing to mollify my unexpectedly aggressive state of arousal, and when I entered his room under a false pretense of going to massage his back and found him sitting on the bed, his shoulders hunched and chin trembling, I could not help but debauch that puny creature right upon the soft bedspread.  
I suppose I have a right to entertain the thought of my actions not being completely against Legolas' will, because in his attempts to stop me he used nothing but his voice, and how could I not ignore his soft pleas, while he spread his hips for me and shivered beneath my wandering hands? I found his little nipples already peaked before I touched them with either my fingers or tongue and it was nothing more than a few touches to these pink buds glistening with my saliva and a wet kiss on his semitransparent ear tip that made him twist and might have made him wake somebody with his scream, were it not for my palm against his mouth.  
I massaged his back quickly while he was lying senseless, his body shuddering in post-orgasmic bliss and that was it for that day.  
The first time i breached him with a finger he did not protest at the very least. I felt his feeble squirming, his walls clenching and spasming around my digit - and when I started rubbing that tiny bump inside him of which existence he had no idea prior to these experience, his passage pinched at my finger almost painfully, white spurts flying from his trembling cock and landing onto his belly.  
Pity, but as soon as his softened elfhood stopped twitching I could see uneasiness in him again. His gaze was glued to my hardness, which was straining almost painfully beneath my garment, his mouth agape and eyes wide with fear, as if he was facing a dangerous beast. I calmed him down as best as I could and left unsatisfied, not wanting to abuse the poor, pliant child.  
The next time he allowed me, if not without fear, to take his arousal, which tasted sweeter than any candy, inside my mouth, where it erupted in no time, his release as watery honey on my tongue.  
Alas, that day happened to be the last day of my visit to Mirkwood - in the morning of the day after I was given the first teasing taste of Legolas' sweetness, an ambassador from my sons arrived, bearing the grave news of my wife being found half dead in the hands of orcs.  
I had known that something like this was to happen and that was what made my little affair with Sindar king's underage heir even sweeter - the thought of my wife being tortured, her womb getting filled with huge amounts of orcish yellow seed, her nipples stretched into giant gaping fuckholes, belly swollen with a pernicious child, skin marred by abhorrent carvings.  
Celebrian, forgive me!  
I drained the life out of your unborn monster child, I did my best to heal your defiled body but I never succeeded in returning your poor fragile soul back to what it had been before, and one of the many reasons for this were my lecherous thoughts of little Legolas Thranduillion lying alone underneath his blanket, his nipples hard from the cold, fabric of the little coverlet rubbing against his tender milky white skin..  
Forgive me, my wife, but the sight of your heavy breasts with disfigured nipples, out of which milk for the child that never got to see the light of the day was leaking in steady rivulets, aroused nothing but disgust inside me, making me think more and more of the prince of Mirkwood who was so close to getting finally speared on my length and who had probably already given his virginity to a busty maid or a merry butler.  
I remember this moment as if it happened yesterday - the white ship bearing my wife away to the blessed lands, Arwen crying in open, Elladan and Elrohir in tears, and me standing with my gaze downcast to hide the betraying lack of emotions, my only thought of little Legolas finally in my clutches somewhere where I don't have to think of what his father may notice.  
Were it not for you, sweet prince, chances are I would have sailed across the sea with my wife.  
But time heals all wounds, doesn't it? The sun still rises and its golden smile seems worn and tired to me no longer. The portrait of Legolas in my head has lost some of its vitality and became one of the many visages taking its place among my wife before her spirit was crushed by orcish vermin, my infant children, my brother, his skin papery and sallow, his hair completely white.  
It's autumn and there is something about the macabre beauty of dying nature that makes my dreams troubled again as if the lord of dreams himself makes sure I don't forget about my horrible guilt and about the pleasure, even more horrible.  
There I am in my sleep, a clearing amidst the wilderness, pine needles prickling gently at my cloaked back. Legolas is sitting in my lap, his body as pliant and soft as butter beneath my hands, my cock buried to the hilt in his heat. He is holding onto my lower arms, his fingers making creases in my clothing but this is the only sign of his distress except for his lower lip which is pink and swollen under the assault of his pearly teeth. The only thing I regret about is me not being able to see his tender pucker stretched unimaginably wide around my girth, but I feel too lazy to shift his pliant body.  
Suddenly I realize we are being watched. Thranduil is standing right beside us.. it's his hateful gaze that is downcast now, and if gazes could kill I might have died right there in my sleep. His fists are tightened, bejeweled fingers white with tension, his neck cords bulging underneath the skin but - alas! - there is nothing once proud king can do now but sit there and watch his son being slowly impaled upon my hard cock.  
Legolas' eyes are closed, his cheeks the same shade of pink as his pretty cock which is leaking droplets unto my belly right now. He presses his face against my chest, but I lift up his chin immediately, and he whimpers, a narrow palm pressed against his mouth far too late. It's too much and I wake up overwhelmed, heavy blanket tented obscenely.  
The thought of Legolas trying to look unimpressed while getting fucked by me before his father's eyes is what makes me reach the apex of pleasure and when I cum for a second it's not my fist that is getting filled with my seed, but Legolas' no longer tight and innocent passage, ready to accept eagerly and absorb anything I offer.

  
Elrond lowered the leather-covered diary with a sigh. There were not many things that made me stop torturing himself by thinking of Thranduil's untouchable son. Sparring with Glorfindel was one of them and the peredhel planned on spending the better part of the morning trying to parry his lightning-quick strikes.  
Alas, his plans were ruined by the letter from Thranduil, the last of the many he received of late. Legolas was ill and it was obvious that his father didn't wish to reveal in the letters the gravity of the situation. From what was written between the lines Elrond guessed that Legolas' eyesight was failing much quicker than Thranduil cared to acknowledge.  
The last letter hinted in an obvious manner at the urgent necessity of Elrond's skill. _I am ready to leave for Imladris with my son as soon as I receive the answer,_ such was the message of the text, and Elrond guessed that Thranduil was not going to accept a denial kindly.  
However, it didn't matter for the half elf had had sent his agreement already. It took all of his will to hide his inappropriate arousal while giving the sealed letter to his adjutant.

  
And now he was sitting there, reading old entries from his diary. The peredhel closed his eyes and it did not take long for the image of poor half-blind Legolas in Rivendell to appear. Breathing unevenely, the peredhel took his arousal in hand, long fingers encircling the veiny thickness of his shaft only partially. He moved his hand slowly, imagining Legolas' small rosy mouth upon his engorged flesh. The heat, the lack of space, hot tongue lapping at the cockhead, licking away the droplets of precum. Legolas' eyes wide open and covered by a milky sheen.. Elrond's free hand tightened as if it was gripping Legolas' hair and not the soft armpad. Hoarse breath hitched in his chest. The vision of Legolas' innocent face covered in his seed, white streaks upon his hair and ears, cum leaking out of the corners of his mouth, his narrow throat desperately trying to accommodate the amount of seed Elrond had given him preceded the peredhel's release and soon there were fresh white spots staining the leather cover of his diary.


End file.
